A cockroach the size of a shoe skitters across the floor beneath my chair, probably sweating his little bug balls off. Business stomps on it, grinding it into the filthy concrete.
“You’re next, witch,” he hisses in my ear. “So don’t you get any ideas.”
He yanks hard on the cuffs, so hard I’m sure my bones are about to snap, but just before they do, I sense a presence in the doorway behind me.
“Restraints aren’t necessary,” a male voice says, smooth and commanding. “Remove them.”
I can’t see our new arrival, but the guard’s grip tightens on my wrists, and I feel his energy shifting from disgust at me to aggression toward the new guy.
Whoever my so-called attorney is, he’s no friend of my captor’s.
I like him immediately.
“You sure about that,counselor?” The guard jerks on my cuffs, forcing me to lean forward in my chair to relieve some of the pressure. “This one’s dangerous. Mouthy bitch, too. My opinion, she deserves to be tied up.”
“Having her in chains will only make the task more difficult.”
After a long, uncomfortable pause, the guard finally releases his death grip and removes the cuffs. My arms fall to my sides like wet noodles, shoulders burning, but I don’t dare turn my head. Something tells me to remain absolutely quiet and still, to wait until the guard is gone.
To conserve my strength.
“Anything else?” the guard asks.
“Leave,” he orders. His voice carries so much authority, I find myself sitting up straighter. Wishing I were a bit more presentable. Hoping, truly, that he’s on my side.
Business doesn’t like it one bit. “Listen, asshole. I’m in charge here. You don’t—”
“The longer you stand here wasting our time,” he says, “the longer it will take me to do my job. The longer it takes me to do my job, the greater the risk for both of us.”
Another heavy pause, then I feel the guard’s aggression fade as he retreats toward the door.
“You got one hour,” he barks. “Get it done.” Without another word, he storms out, slamming the door behind him. It latches and beeps, sealing me in with the man who, for the moment, holds my destiny in his hands.
Firm steps clack against the cement floor as he walks around to the other side of the table and sets down his briefcase, looming over me across the expanse of cheap wood and metal.
For a tense, silent moment, we assess each other.
I can only imagine how I must look to him—unwashed, bruised, reeking of piss. Shame heats my cheeks, but I hold his gaze.
He, on the other hand, immediately commands respect. Tall and broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, with wavy black hair that’s just starting to gray at the temples and hard, flint-colored eyes that seem to take in every detail, every nuance. He’s dressed in a black suit with thin blue pinstripes, a crisp white shirt beneath, and an understated gold tie tacked with a small silver pin in the shape of a shield.
My skin burns under his penetrating gaze. Like his authoritative voice, something about those eyes makes me feel like he can read every lie, see every flaw.
If he’s truly a lawyer, he’s probably a damned good one.
I try to get a read on his emotions, his intentions, but he’s locked up like a vault, totally shielded.
I can sense his power, though, if not his feelings—he’s definitely a mage. A well-practiced one at that; it’s no easy feat to totally shield your emotions. Usually a little bit leaks out around the edges.
He sits down across from me and inches closer to the table, giving me a better glimpse at the silver pin on his tie. It’s etched with four symbols, I see now—a cup, a sword, a wand, and a pentacle.
The suits of the Tarot.
He pops the latches on his briefcase and removes a fist-sized crystal, placing it in the center of the table. Holding his hand over the top, he whispers an incantation I can’t hear.
“Hematite,” he says. “It’s a shielding stone. It will ensure our conversation can’t be recorded or overheard.”
“Handy,” I say.
